To Salem's courts what gathering crowds ascend,
What prostrate myriads in her temple bend!
Assembled nations pour th' adoring strain,

Mix voice with voice and bless th' auspicious reign.
· Worthy the Lamb, for us his blood was giv'n,
The Sons of God, the ransom'd heirs of heav'n!'
From sea to sea the glowing transports roll,
Shore calls on shore and pole resounds to pole.
Heroes no more shall urge the thund'ring car,
Or hurl their vengeance through the ranks of war:
The din is hush'd; the storms of discord cease,
And savage natures harmonize in peace.
The tawny lion, tyrant of the wood,

Forgets to rage, no more athirst for blood.

Fierce wolves and flocks in mild accordance feed,
Drink at one stream and crop one common mead :
The feather'd minstrels wake the tuneful grove
And hymn the reign of universal love.

Earth's utmost bounds the swelling concert raise,
And seas wide-weltering murmur notes of praise.

"Haste, haste, ye years; on swifter pinions borne,
Speed your glad course, and rise the destin'd morn :
Bid earth's dark realms with realms celestial vie,
A lower heav'n, an image of the sky.
For me a throne of purer radiance waits,
And heav'n unfolds her everlasting gates.
Let the last trump its rending terrors sound,
Let pealing thunders shake the vaulted round:
Let stars and skies in liquid flames expire,
And rolling suns dissolve in seas of fire-

High o'er the wreck my soul shall wing her flight,
And soar transported to the realms of light.
Father, I come; no more shall earth delay
The bursting visions of eternal day.

Ev'n now thy beams a sacred life impart,
Rouse my weak frame and cheer my languid heart.
Ev'n now I mount, I climb the blest abode,
Bask in the smiles and tread the courts of God.
There streams of life in endless glory rise,
Ambrosial fruits and trees of Paradise.
There kings and priests empyreal mansions own,
And circling seraphs guard the burning throne.
My kindred spirit hastes with them to prove
Th' unmeasur'd fulness of immortal love;
With angel choirs in prostrate joy to fall,
Heav'n my sure home, and God my all in all."

VERSES

A. B.

On receiving a Print of Cowper, engraved from a Sketch painted by Lawrence.

BY THE REV. DR. RANDOLPH OF BATH.

SWEET Bard! whose mind, thus pictur'd in thy face,
O'er every feature spreads a nobler grace;
Whose keen, yet soften'd, eye appears to dart
A look of pity through the human heart,
To search the secrets of man's inward frame,
To weep with sorrow o'er his guilt and shame;
Sweet Bard with whom in sympathy of choice,
I oft have left the world at nature's voice,
To join the song that all her creatures raise,
To carol forth the great Creator's praise;
Or, wrapt in visions of eternal day,
Have gaz'd on truth in Zion's heavenly way;
Sweet Bard! may this thine image, all I know,
Or ever may, of Cowper here below,
Teach one who views it with a Christian's love,
To seek and find thee in the realms above!

ODE TO THE SWALLOW,

BY DR. SHAW.

GENTLE Herald of the Spring,
Gliding swift on wandering wing,
Say from what distant climes returned
Thou viewest Britannia's realm again,
And skimming o'er the primrose plain,
Pursuest in extacy thine airy flight,
Oft gazing with increased delight

On her fair fields, with softest verdure crowned,
While April spreads his chequered gems around.

Comest thou from Afric's sultry waste,
To shun her summer's scorching heat;
Where fiercely gleaming o'er the blasted heath,
The dry Harmattan breathes the gale of death?

Or comest thou from some secret cave,
Waked from thy long repose,

Where wintery winds around thee blew,

And fell the driving snows;

Where storms unheeded rent the troubled air,

While every field was bleak, and every tree was bare?

Or, sunk beneath the whelming tide, Could thy feathered form reside, And, strange to tell! by secret charms, While Naiads waved their circling arms, In liquid crystal pass the wintery gloom, Till earth again displayed her vernal bloom? But, from whatever spot arrived,

The muse shall hail thy sight;
And to the joys of Britain's clime
With welcome voice invite :

Long, little wanderer, be thy stay
Within our sea-girt Isle!
'And Summer yield her softest sweets
To pay thy pleasing toil!

And many a fresh returning year
Again survey thy swift career:

And thy early note again

Haply please the rural swain,

While twittering o'er the straw-built shed,"

Thou "wakest him from his lowly bed."

Still, sweet bird, may young Delight

Animate thy circling flight;

And Air her choicest food supply,
To rear thy infant progeny.

Late retire on glossy wing,
Gentle Herald of the Spring!

TO MY LYRE.

FOND plaything of my brighter hours,
Vibrating once to notes of gladness,
By flattering Hope once crowned with flowers,
Thy master's heart now sinks in sadness!

That heart, which once, in deepest gloom,
Watched for a more auspicious morrow;
Now keenly mourns its final doom,
Unmingled grief, and endless sorrow.

Oh! then, if, in some happier day,
Thy chords awoke the song of pleasure,

Now pour a soul-dissolving lay,

A mournful note, a plaintive measure,

If ever this presumptuous hand

Crowned thee with flowers, those flowers are faded; Henceforth, by Misery's stern command,

Be with congenial cypress shaded !

No more, at Autumn's plaçid eve,

Shall softest zephyrs, round thee playing,

With dreams of fancied bliss deceive

A heart on which Despair is preying.

But, pendant on some leafless tree,

Through which November's blasts are mourning,

Thy hollow sounds a dirge shall be

For hours of joy no more returning!